The Bowtruckle
The following morning dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Though things had changed drastically in the last twenty-four hours, to the rest of Hogwarts Castle it was just another day.
Scorpius stood beside his bed in the fourth-years boys dormitory, dressed in his uniform with the exception of the tie. He held it up in front of him, almost as though he were closely examining the scarlet and gold stripes. He looked up quickly, suddenly realising someone was standing in the doorway.
"I can't imagine how strange this is for you," Harry said kindly. "Being sent back in time ... Well, I suppose it's not your first rodeo in that respect, either."
Scorpius shrugged. "It's different this time. I mean, last time it was almost like it wasn't real. But this - this is."
Harry smiled sadly. "We'll get through it, all of us. Together."
Scorpius squirmed uncomfortably as he and Harry entered the Great Hall. Clearly, the rumours of what had happened in Gryffindor Tower last night had made their way through the school in the brief time between curfew ending and breakfast beginning.
With an incline of his head, Harry gestured for Scorpius to follow him across to the Gryffindor table, where the Potters and Weasleys had congregated.
"On the plus side," Ron was saying to James, who looked like he hadn't slept a wink, "no Snape today."
Opposite Ron, Hermione yawned and poured herself a cup of coffee. She offered the coffe to Scorpius, who had climbed into the seat beside her, but he politely declined. Noticing the stares of their classmates around them, she wisely chose not to make a big deal of Scorpius' presence. Instead, she said conversationally to Ron, "The hats have gone."
"'Course they have," he said through a mouthful of toast. "Dobby's -"
"- Hey, Scorp," Ginny said loudly, leaning across her brother and glaring at him for good measure, "can you pass me the bacon?"
"Uh, sure," he said, passing the platter to her carefully.
In the meantime, Harry had made his way around the table. She nodded her thanks to Scorpius and looked up to Harry, who had an arm resting gently on her back.
"Morning," he murmured, sitting himself down next to her and resisting the urge to kiss her cheek.
"Morning," she said just as quietly. Her gaze briefly flicker from his eyes to his lips, but if you blinked you would've missed it. "He seems to be settling in well."
"As well as can be expected," Harry said, spooning some beans onto her plate in the same way she'd just put bacon on his.
To the casual observer, the duo looked like two close friends enjoying breakfast among their friends. To anyone who looked a little closer, however, it was obvious there was something more there. It was like watching a closely choreographed dance; they were serving themselves and each other breakfast, whilst engaging in conversation with the people around them. On top of all this, they seemed to be having a completely silent conversation all of their own.
"Hey, Al," Lily called to her brother, leaning forward so she could see him around the four people sitting between them. "Are we doing it?"
"Of course," he said immediately, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Doing what exactly?" a very confused Scorpius asked his best friend.
Al grinned. "Betting on how long it takes James to wind up in detention."
"You mean he hasn't yet?"
"Hey!" James said indignantly, despite being half asleep. "I've had a lot going on."
For Harry, Ron, Hermione and James, double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of O.W.L.s.
"What you must remember," Professor Flitwick said squeakily, perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, "is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!"
They then spent over an hour revising Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in the O.W.L.
"I can do this in my sleep," James grumbled, summoning the same pillow from the opposite side of the classroom for the sixth time in the last ten minutes.
"Quit complaining," Harry murmured. "It's good practice."
James rolled his eyes dramatically. "How many times do we have to go through this, dad? I've already passed this O.W.L."
"And we're not discounting that," Harry said, catching the pillow he himself had summoned from across the classroom. "Consider this an opportunity to improve on your already impressive record."
"I got an Outstanding."
Harry turned to his son and gave him 'the look' - every parent has one, and this one had been honed to absolute perfection over the years. "And? There's always room for improvement."
"Bull," James muttered. A second later, he was spluttering after being hit in the face with a pillow wielded by his father.
Beside them, Ron was roaring with laughter - even Hermione was having difficulty hiding her amusement.
"Oh, Jamie," Hermione said, wiping a tear away from her eyes. "You really should've seen that coming."
Transfiguration, however, was a whole other kettle of fish.
"You cannot pass an O.W.L.," Professor McGonagall said grimly, "without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an O.W.L. in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work."
Behind them, the classroom door opened to reveal Neville Longbottom, who had a bandage wrapped around his head.
"Ah, Mr Longbottom. Take a seat," Professor McGonagall said. "I was just explaining to the class how everyone should be able to achieve an O.W.L. in this class."
"Okay," Neville said, placing his books gently on his desk and sitting in the chair.
Professor McGonagall paused, her eyes glancing quickly to Harry, who shrugged. A moment later, however, she had recovered. "Today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until N.E.W.T. level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your O.W.L."
No sooner had she finished her lecture and set the class the task of practicing the magic than she was saying, "Potter, Longbottom. I need to see you in the hallway."
James went to stand up out of habit of hearing his surname, but his father's firm hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat. Harry waited for Professor McGonagall to sweep past his desk and for Neville to get up from his own desk before he rose from his seat and followed them out into the hallway. Though he should've been surprised, he half-expected to see the sight that greeted him in the hallway: Professor McGonagall was doing her best to console Neville, who was leaning against the wall and very clearly barely holding it together.
"Nev?" Harry asked tentatively, closing the classroom door behind him.
"It's me," Neville said, forcing himself to take deep breaths in an effort to control himself. "The me, me. Not the ... teenage me."
Harry quickly stepped around Professor McGonagall and clapped a hand on Neville's shoulder. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, let's see," Neville said in a mock-conversational tone. "Last night I went to bed with my wife, and this morning I woke up in the Hospital Wing. And several decades younger than I remember being."
Harry smiled, though there was nothing happy about that sentence. "How's Hannah doing?"
"She's about ready to pop," Neville said, a small smile of his own creeping across his face. He faltered, though, and added, "At least, she was."
Despite everything this meant, Harry was selfishly happy to have one of his oldest friends back - really, truly back - in his life. Neville and Hannah had married much later than the rest of their friends; By the time they finally got around to it, Hannah was running the Leaky Cauldron and Neville had left the Auror department in favour of a career as a teacher here at Hogwarts. They were so focused on other areas of their lives that building a family of their own hadn't been a priority. In fact, it wasn't until Rita Skeeter started writing about them in her gossip column that the Longbottoms really started to think about having kids. It had been years at this point, and the journey had been nothing short of cruel, but it had finally happened. They'd announced at the start of the year that they were expecting. Right now, Hannah Longbottom was eight-and-a-half months pregnant.
Well, future Hannah Longbottom was. In this time right here and right now, Hannah Abbott was several floors below them in the Castle, fifteen-years-old, and sitting through one of the most boring History of Magic lectures any of them had ever sat through in their lives.
"What happened, Harry?" Neville asked him quietly. "We were supposed to have dinner, and when we got to the house, you were just ... gone."
"Gone?" Harry asked, glancing from Neville to Professor McGonagall and back. "What do you mean, 'gone'?"
"... I mean gone."
"Who, Neville?" Harry said urgently. "Exactly who was gone?"
He shrugged. "All of you. You, Gin, the kids."
Harry frowned. "Ginny was gone?"
Neville nodded.
Harry turned to Professor McGonagall, still thoroughly confused. "But - but she's not like us. She's like you. She remembers, but she's not her."
"Then why did she disappear?"
It was a question no one had an answer to.
When the lunch bell rang, Ron, James and Hermione headed straight to the library, where the boys were frantically looking up the uses of moonstones in potion-making. Harry, however, did not join them. Instead, he headed outside the Castle, down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The day had become cool and breezy, with the occasional drop of rain hitting his face. His head was aching in a way it hadn't done for years. Clearly, the stress of the situation was starting to get to him.
"Penny for your thoughts," a kind voice said, approaching him from behind.
He turned, surprised to see a very young Astoria Greengrass approaching him leisurely, her blue Ravenclaw tie shifting slightly in the breeze.
"Astoria," he said, though he wasn't quite sure how he should address her. "Scorp's inside, with Al and -"
"- I know," she said kindly, joining him on the bench beside Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Quietly, she said, "I'm so glad he had Al to help him through - well, you know."
Harry found himself looking at her thoughtfully. Without realising it, she smiled.
"You want to ask me, don't you?"
"Ask you what?"
"What it's like," she whispered, still smiling. "Though, I'd think you of all people would already have the answer to that."
He frowned. "To what?"
She rose to her feet then, readying herself to head back up to the Castle. "Don't you just ... get on a train?"
By the time Harry arrived at their Care of Magical Creatures class that afternoon - late, despite having spent his entire lunch hour down by Hagrid's hut - his head was aching again. At first, he couldn't make head nor tail of what Astoria had said. Then, however, he realised. Everything he'd experienced that day - being at Kings Cross Station, even talking to Albus Dumbledore ... it had all been real.
Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class literally ten yards away from where he had been sitting, consumed in his own thoughts, a long trestle table laden with twigs set in front of her.
As Harry arrived at the class, Professor Grubbly-Plank gave him a raised eyebrow and said, "Mr Potter. Glad you could finally join us."
"I'm sorry, Professor," he said. "I, uh ... I have no excuse."
Behind him, he heard the unmistakable snort of Pansy Parkinson, followed by a chorus of laughter from her Slytherin cronies.
"Oh, knock it off!" Draco Malfoy said exasperatedly. "Honestly, you are such children!"
Harry, Ron, Hermione and James all exchanged concerned looks. After all, Draco's continued survival in this timeline depended entirely on his ability to fit smoothly into the shoes of the person he was when he was fifteen. A change to this timeline right now could spell disaster for them all.
Professor Grubbly-Plank, however, was more interested in running her class. "Okay everyone, let's crack on! Who can tell me what these things are called?"
True to form, Hermione's hand shot up into the air. Behind them, they couldn't help but notice another of the Slytherins doing a buck-tooth imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. While Draco scowled at the childishness, Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, which caused the twigs on the table to leap into the air and reveal themselves to be what looked like tiny pixieish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.
While several of the girls around them gawked in wonder, James was rolling his eyes. Under his breath, he muttered, "You'd think Hagrid's never shown them anything interesting before. I mean, the Flobberworms were a bit dull, but Salamanders? Hippogriffs?"
"Not to mention the Blast-Ended Skrewts," Ron added.
James frowned. "The what?"
"Nevermind," Harry and Hermione both said quickly, doing their best to divert the inquisitive teenager's attention.
Predictably, however, it didn't work. When Professor Grubbly-Plank dispersed the class with the assignment to sketch and label the Bowtruckles around them, he made sure he was paired with his father.
"Where is Hagrid?" he asked, watching his father very closely.
Harry paused, then very deliberately said, "Not now, James."
"And why not now, dad?" James insisted, dropping his voice so only his father could hear.
"This is not the time, and it's definitely not the place."
"Maybe," Blaise Zambini said, having heard James ask about his least-favourite teacher, "the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured."
"Maybe you will if you don't shut up," Harry said, not taking his eyes off his sketch for even so much as a second.
"Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him, if you get my drift."
Harry closed his eyes, and forced himself to keep an expressionless face. He could see James trying to read him, but he was determined not to give him any clues.
Mercifully, Ron and Hermione joined them then, both scowling at Zambini as he walked away.
"We know he's fine," Hermione whispered immediately. "It's just playing into their hands to look like we're worried. We've got to ignore him, and -"
"- Yeah, yeah, Hermione," Harry sighed, taking the Bowtruckle from her outstretched hand.
"Yes," they heard Zambini saying loudly from the group nearest to them, "my father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on sub-standard teaching in this even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away."
"OUCH!"
Harry had gripped the Bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped, and it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long, deep cuts. Shaking his hand wildly, Harry dropped it. Beside them, Crabbe and Goyle - who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked - laughed still harder as the Bowtruckle set off at full tilt towards the Forest, a little moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots. When the bell echoed distantly over the grounds, Harry rolled up his blood-stained Bowtruckle picture and marched off to Herbology with his hand wrapped in Hermione's handkerchief, and the Slytherin's derisive laughter still ringing in his ears.
"If they call Hagrid a moron one more time ..."
"Don't go picking a row with them, Harry," Hermione said gently. "Don't forget who they are, who they're aligned with. They could make life difficult for you."
"Wow, I wonder what it'd be like to have a difficult life," Harry mused sarcastically. Without so much as a backward glance, he took off across the vegetable patch as quickly as he could possibly manage.
As he watched his father storm away, James turned to his aunt and uncle and said, "What just happened?"
Ron just sighed. "It's a long story, kid."
As he approached the greenhouses leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates, Harry was disappointed to see the nearest door open and some fourth-years spill out of it. His mood lift exponentially, however, when he saw Ginny and her bright smile approach him.
"Hi," she said brightly. This was quickly followed by, "What the hell have you done now?"
He glanced down to his bloody-handkerchief wrapped hand and shrugged. "It's nothing."
"Bullshit," she declared, dropping her backpack at his feet and very gently unwrapping the haphazardly applied cloth. "Oh, Harry! That's a deep scratch! How -?"
"We both know this isn't even close to the worst injury I've ever had."
"That's not comforting," she said, though she still gently tapped her wand against his hand and watched the oozing skin knit itself back together. When she was satisfied the scratch had been healed, she finally let go of his hand. It took them both a moment to realise they were now just standing there, staring at one another.
The awkward moment was, mercifully, short lived. Behind them, Luna Lovegood emerged from the greenhouse, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for him. Without so much as a preliminary hello, she took a deep breath and said, "I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him."
"Er - thanks, Luna," Harry said awkwardly, any uncomfortable thoughts of the unusual situation with his wife suddenly long gone from his mind.
Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.
"You can laugh," Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing, "but people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"
"Well, they were right," James said plainly, approaching his parents without so much as a second thought. "There aren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."
"James," Ginny said warningly.
"What? Am I wrong?"
Luna, for her part, did not dignify him with a response. Instead she gave him a withering look and flounced away, radishes swinging madly. Parvati and Lavender were not the only ones hooting with laughter now.
"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Harry asked his son as they made their way into class.
"What do you mean, 'the only people'?" James countered. Lowering his voice, he added, "Dad - what aren't you telling us?"
He was saved answering by the sudden appearance of Ernie Macmillan, who stepped up and said in a loud, carrying voice, "I want you to know, Potter, that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred per cent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."
"Thanks, Ernie," Harry said, suddenly sounding more than a little tired. Ernie could be pompous on occasions like this, but right at this moment Harry couldn't help but deeply appreciate a vote of confidence from somebody who did not have radishes hanging from their ears. Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Brown's face and as he turned back to his friends, Harry caught Seamus' expression, which looked both confused and defiant.
"Good morning, fifth years," Professor Sprout said, walking into the greenhouse at her normal brisk pace. When she reached her usual spot at the end of the room, she did a double take. "Miss Weasley? Shouldn't you be heading back up to the castle?"
It took an elbow in the ribs from James for Ginny to realise it was her Professor Sprout was talking to.
"Oh, uh - right," she said, then hurried out of the greenhouse.
To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout starter their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of O.W.L.s. Harry wished all the teachers would stop doing this; though he had done this before (not to mention the fact he had arguably forgotten more about magic than he had ever learnt in his six years of formal education), he was starting to get an anxious, twisted feeling in his stomach every time he remembered how much homework he had to do, a feeling that worsened dramatically when Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout's preferred type of fertiliser, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle, non of them talking very much; it had been another long day.
As Harry was starving, and he had his first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, he headed straight for dinner without dropping off his bag in Gryffindor Tower so he could attempt to bolt something down before facing what he knew was coming next. He had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, "Oi, Potter!"
"What now?" he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.
"I'll tell you what now," she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"
"What?" Harry said, confused.
Beside him, James hissed, "Keeper tryouts."
"Oh, shit! Keeper tryouts!"
"Now he remembers," snarled Angelina. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone? Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"
"I didn't decide not to be there, Angelina," Harry hit back. "I got detention from that Umbridge woman because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who."
"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday," said Angelina fiercely, "and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!"
She stormed away.
"You know what?" Harry said to Ron, Hermione and James as they entered the Great Hall. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemore United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channelling his spirit."
"What, that?" James scoffed. "That was nothing. I remember once when we were ten, me and Fred -"
"- Yes?" Harry said expectantly, his eyebrows raised at his son.
"Uh, nothing."
"It's gonna want to be nothing," Harry said quickly.
In a vain attempt to change the subject, James said, "So what are the chances of old toad-face letting you off on Friday?"
Wordlessly, Harry smacked his son over the back of the head.
"About as likely as your gran not making everyone personalised jumpers for Christmas," Ginny said, watching Harry slip into the seat beside her at the Gryffindor table and passing him a plate of lamb chops and vegetables.
"So less than zero?" Al offered, shooting his father a small smile.
"Couldn't you do her a deal?" James said, completely oblivious to the change in atmosphere from his family around him. "Offer to do two more detentions or something. You don't wanna be on Aunt Ang -"
"- Pass the potatoes?" Lily said loudly, leaning around Al to glare at James.
"Here," Scorpius said, picking up the plate of potatoes in front of him and passing it to James, who gave it to Al, who held it while Lily acquired her food.
"She's not gonna want to keep you too long tonight," James said, already tucking into the strange concoction of foods he'd lumped onto his plate. "You realise we've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?"
"I'm sorry," Lily said, "you're worried about homework? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
Though he was enjoying the brief downtime, at five to five Harry bade the others goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, "Come in," in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around. Despite knowing what was waiting for him, he found himself entirely disgusted all over again.
He had known this office under three of its previous occupants, not to mention every Defence professor the school had had since. In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lubin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.
Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicoloured kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.
"Good evening, Mr Potter."
Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.
"Evening, Professor Umbridge," he said stiffly, forcing himself to keep his manners in check.
"Well, sit down," she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him. With a massive effort, he forced one foot in front of the other to approach the table, dropped his school bag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.
"Now," Professor Umbridge said, "you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr Potter."
He stared openly at her as she approached and handed him a long, thing black quill with an unusually sharp point. By sheer willpower alone, he took hold of it in two fingers and lay it on the desk beside the parchment - he wasn't going to be touching that thing for a moment longer than he had to.
"I want you to write, I must not tell lies," she told him softly.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to say, "How many times?" with a credible imitation of politeness.
"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go."
Knowing he had to do it, Harry grit his teeth, placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies. It took every ounce of willpower in his body not to let out a gasp of pain. Instead, he screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to keep his breathing even. Without looking, he knew the words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel. Yet, when he finally did force his eyes open and stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.
Though his eyes darted over to her, her wouldn't let himself look at the woman. She, however, had noticed he'd stopped. "Yes?"
"Nothing," he said quietly, taking another deep breath and writing I must not tell lies on the parchment in front of him again.
And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he knew was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.
Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill. She would not win.
"Come here," she said, after what seemed like hours.
He stood up. His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw.
"Hand," she said.
He extended it. She took it in her own. He repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.
"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet," she said, smiling. "Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go."
Harry left her office without a word. The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight. He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not see him, he slipped into a secret passage and sunk to the floor, right hand held gingerly in his left and his back pressed against the stone wall behind him.
It would have easily been half an hour or more before he heard someone else approaching. He was fully expecting to see Mr Filch round the corner and go off at him, but instead he was pleasantly surprised to see Ginny approach him slowly, a battered old piece of parchment held in one hand and her wand in the other, lighting the way. She was wearing a comfy pair of sweatpants and an old shirt he was very certain had come out of his trunk. Her long, red hair flowed over her shoulders freely in a way he didn't see often, even long after their Hogwarts years.
"Hey," she said quietly, approaching him gingerly and joining him on the cold stone floor. She lay the parchment on the floor in front of them and said, "I bribed Jamie to get the map from your trunk."
Despite the hopelessness rising in his chest, her found himself giving her the tiniest smile. "And what did that cost you?"
"I agreed to waive punishment for whatever stupid crap he brings back from Zonkos on the first Hogsmeade weekend."
Harry raised an eyebrow at her.
"What?" she asked. "The twins haven't got their business started yet. How much damage can he really do?"
"Do you want me to answer that?" Harry asked her tiredly, suddenly glad for the distraction from the pain in his hand.
Noticing he was still holding his right hand in his left, she gently took hold of the hand he was cradling and inspected it closely. "You're not going to say anything about this, are you?"
"I'm not going to let her win," he murmured, wincing as he gently clasped her hand with his, but doing it anyway.
She shook her head. "It wouldn't be letting her win. It'd be -"
"- What? Protecting people?"
Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Can we just let this go, Gin? I can't - I ... I don't ..."
"It's okay," she said, leaning over and resting her forehead against his. "It's okay, Harry. It's you and me. We're fine, and we're going to be just fine. Everything is going to be just fine."
